


storm triplet

by ninemoons42



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Feels and Smut, Fluff and Smut, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Multi, Noctis Celes Lucis Caelum, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63, Self-Indulgent, Self-cest, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, always female Noctis Lucis Caelum, he gets to have boy Noctis and girl Noctis at once, lucky lucky floof, prompto is the filling in a noctis sandwich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 05:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: Let out of school for a long weekend, Prompto thinks he'll be happy just to spend all 72 hours with Noctis.He's not expecting anyone else to show up, but fate or destiny or whatever has other plans.





	storm triplet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akumeoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/gifts).



> This started with looking for an excuse to put Noctis in a Kingsglaive coat -- and that does happen, but with a couple of twists and feels along the way.
> 
> ////
> 
> (Not related to [moon triplet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13532184) except for the idea of one Prom and two Nocts in bed. :D)

Seventy-two hours.

Seventy-two hours -- the phrase beats in his mind, over and over, as he trips and stumbles through the dust of his house, through the wan light of the seldom-used fixtures, and he’s piling clean clothes into a battered duffel without really stopping to look at what he’s doing, because he can hear the loud tick of the clock in the kitchen and he can hear it marking the seconds and the minutes passing by.

And if he can finish all of this packing and somehow fly halfway across the city to the street corner next to one of the arcades near the school in the next forty-five minutes, he’ll be able to spend every single moment of those seventy-two hours with Noctis, and the thought of never having had a chance to do anything like that before, is the lash and the whip to his thoughts, to his hands, to his feet.

He covers the half-dozen rooms of the house several times over in his confusion, in his hurry, and he can feel the sweat plastering his shirt to his back long before he double-checks and triple-checks the locks on the front doors -- before he circles around to the back of the house and checks that door, too, and then he has to make himself take a huge deep cleansing breath, and -- why the hell not, since he’s already wired -- start running.

The wind in his hair turns cool somewhere between one intersection and another, but he doesn’t really understand what’s changing in the weather until he stops beneath the awning of a yarn shop to catch his breath, and turns to look blindly past the plate-glass window, and -- 

He whips back around and he’s already reaching for his camera.

Because the sky overhead is almost exactly divided in half: on one side, the perfect boundless breathless blue of high noon on a summer’s day. On the other, long layers of rippling gray clouds pierced in watery wan sunlight. The line between the two skies isn’t straight by any means, and he tries to follow it, tries to look for the best tension to capture in a photograph, and five minutes pass by, ten, as the same cool wind blows alternating scents at him. Someone’s garden flowers in their sharp spicy must, and cut fruits; the metallic zing of the concrete sidewalk and the earth beneath it exhaling.

Blast of car-horns in the intersection and he jolts, nearly drops his camera, starts running again until the mad panicked beat of his heart vanishes into the steady pound of his shoes and his feet on the road, and this isn’t anywhere near difficult, not any more, not for a long time. The swing of his shoulders, the arcs of his knees. Foot-strike, pronation, his feet carrying him steadily forward toward that street corner and seventy-two hours -- 

He thinks he smells rain, suddenly, the fleeting thought of its warm weight, as he jogs down another pedestrian crossing and now the arcade building is in sight in its oddly friendly ramshackle exterior and the neon-light signs hanging burnt-out and precarious over its facade -- and just past the arcade, a sleek black bulk, the gleam of chrome --

The street corner is already occupied by the time Prompto thinks he has enough breath, enough strength, to call out.

He’d know those shoulders anywhere, and that stylishly mussed hair. Shoulders that used to be sloppily slouched, that are now a little more upright. Tension not of trying to make himself more inconspicuous, but of trying to claim his own space in the world. And Prompto would know, since he’s been trying to imitate that exact bearing, since he’s been forced into it now by the combined weights of Crownsguard training and the recommendations of people like Gladio and Ignis and Cor.

So he stops, before he can say a word, and he straightens his shoulders and tilts his head up and swings his arms, energetically, before leaping forward into a determined march -- 

He can hear Noctis laughing from well down the block, and the sound makes him smile --

But the smile falls away when there’s movement on the street corner and it resolves into --

The very first thing he thinks is: no one in the world has eyes like Noctis’s. It isn’t just that they’re blue. It’s that they’re the blue of a very specific moment in the day. Blue like the one last second of teetering and waiting between the dying day and the waking night, blue of the sky into which the first sighting of the first star at dusk’s going to appear, any breath now, any beat now. Blue like the last drop of sunlight fading into the deep night -- and Noctis has eyes that blue.

So does the girl who steps out of Noctis’s shadow.

Blue eyes, her blue eyes and the dark wings of her eyeliner, the sharply drawn points that end nearly at her temples. Her blue eyes dominate her face and she’s not even wearing lip gloss, he thinks; every part of her is pointed towards her eyes, emphasizing them and their outstanding blue.

The wind starts up again -- the world starts up again around him -- and before he can give in to the terrible impulse to apologize, turn around, and run all the way back home -- the girl catches his gaze. Her impossible eyes just like Noctis’s, pinning him down in exactly the same way, that rivets him to the sidewalk and leaves him shaking, as she strides toward him and now that she’s on her own, now that she’s bearing down on him powerful and inexorable, he can try to take in all the details and --

He catches his breath because she walks as Noctis does: that possessive stride, that’s only emphasized by what feels like the miles and miles of her exposed legs. High-cut shorts and low-slouched boots, to show off the movements of her as her walk turns into a run and now she’s right there. Right there in front of him and -- his eyes catch on her beauty mark, a small dark star-shape in its orbit low on her right cheek -- 

Without really thinking about it he taps that spot on his own face.

The spot where Noctis has a beauty mark, star-shaped.

Her eyes light up, and she tosses her head -- dark strands of hair fanning and brushing against her cheeks, clinging to the corner of her mouth as if to frame that same beauty mark, smirk that turns Prompto’s knees weak when he sees it on Noctis and -- and finally the details fall together, the way she walks and smiles and rakes her hair back and -- 

“Noctis?” he asks.

The laugh bursts from her, sparkling music in the odd confluence of the skies above, and she turns sharply around on the heel of her boot and Prompto catches the dismayed twist in her mouth, only there for a moment -- she says, looking behind her, “What the fuck, I owe you ten gil? How were you right?”

And Noctis, the Noctis that Prompto’s been running towards, comes up and slings his arm around the girl’s shoulders. He shakes her, fondly, gently, and Prompto knows how that feels, that rough affection, that sweet weight of Noctis leaning against him.

Noctis says, “I know because Prompto knows me.”

He says it like he doesn’t care that anyone passing by on the sidewalk can hear it.

He says it like it’s a statement of fact.

He says it like he’s sitting on a throne, wrapped in silver and gold.

And the girl breaks away from him by pretending to kick him in the shins, and takes another step closer, and says, “You called me Noctis.”

Prompto only barely manages to stand his ground in the face of her smile. “Yeah, and I’m sorry, I don’t know why I actually said it out loud.” He gestures to his own eyes. “Something about this. Sorry.”

Her smile grows sweeter and smaller and kinder. “Did you hear what I said after? I said, you were right. I’m Noctis. Noctis Celes, and I guess I won’t mind if you called me that. Called me Celes, I mean, since you call this guy Noctis.” Shape of her thumb, hooking past her shoulder -- where Noctis, the boy Noctis, is standing next to her again.

Skittering leaves in the wind that scours the sidewalk -- wind that tosses the clouds overhead and now there’s more sunlight falling onto the two of them, and onto her in particular. Celes’s hair that falls in a spiky cloud past her shoulders, only barely restrained by the comb she wears above her right ear. Her all-black outfit, except for the chain-and-ribbon of her choker that fans silver links onto her chest. The frock coat that falls all the way past her knees -- silver buttons and black braid and Prompto blinks, recognizes it, and says, “That coat looks good on you.”

“Borrowed it,” Celes laughs.

“Warped into the Glaives’ barracks and stole it,” Noctis corrects, also laughing. 

“Go tell the whole world why don’t you.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Guys,” Prompto says, and he’s helpless, he’s drawn in and caught and pinned on their laughter, on their sword-edged grins, and he doesn’t question the impulse to hold his hands out to both of them: and it’s a thrill when Noctis smacks one hand with his own, easy warmth of impact and the low-five and the sweet light in his eyes. 

Celes, on the other hand, looks almost afraid, he thinks, when she reaches back to him. “This is okay?”

So he grins at her. “Wouldn’t be offering otherwise.”

“Okay. You say so,” she says. Glossy nail polish, gray pinstripes on black, not exactly a contrast to the rough spots all over her hand, all over her fingers. Like Noctis, she’s of a height with him, and maybe the boots give her all of a half-inch’s advantage and he’s fine with that.

He’s fine with it, too, when Noctis presses up against his other side and says, “Okay. Now. Can we get out of here? Because we’ve got seventy-two hours of freedom and maybe I’m gonna spend some of it sleeping -- but the rest I want to spend with you. Both of you.”

“Kinda sweet of you,” he hears Celes say, and he grins and has to fight the sudden impulse to press a kiss into her hair.

He doesn’t know her, he has to remind himself. He doesn’t know a thing except her name, and that she’d said she was Noctis, and -- well, maybe he’s got something to learn, in the next seventy-two hours.

////

The sky actually doesn’t open up until Prompto’s gone and dumped his bag full of clothes next to the doors of Noctis’s walk-in closet -- and then the rain only falls in fits and spurts, drifting prettily in the sunlight that insists on lingering, and he stops and stares where he’s supposed to be making his way over to the kitchen, because the rain flashes past him and splinters the light and he wants his camera, but it’s in the bedroom now and he doesn’t want to double back for it.

Presence by his elbow and he looks, because this time he has to know which one of them is here and it’s Noctis, which is a relief, because then he can ask, “What’s going on? Not that it’s bad. But it’s strange. And you’re acting like it’s no big deal. But she’s you. She’s real, right? She’s you?”

Soft chuckle, is the first response. “She’s real, yeah, I mean she talked back to the guy who was driving, right? And to the person at the reception desk. She’s real, and, like, she’s been here before. I’ve known her from when I was a kid. I don’t know how she gets here, or what makes her come here, but I’ve been meeting her, and letting her stay here, for almost as long as I’ve had this place.”

Now Prompto can nod, because -- that probably explains the sparsely-populated shelves in the corner of the walk-in closet, the ones with the silky shirts and the short skirts. Probably. 

“You think it’s weird that I kiss her.”

“I saw you kissing, yeah,” he says, grateful that he doesn’t have to bring it up first. “And I thought it was weird only because -- I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. I still don’t know much. But I’ll take your word for it, if you say she’s you, from some other place. Some other Eos?”

“I know there are other worlds. Crystal showed me, when I was a kid. She’s from one of them.”

Silence falls, and Prompto clutches at Noctis’s hand -- and Noctis, to his relief clutches back.

“Different topic?” he offers.

“Different topic,” he hears Noctis say.

“I can be the different topic.”

And Celes steps up to his other side. One boot on and one boot off. Her hand on the glass of the window, and the sunlight turning her skin almost translucent. 

“Ask me,” she says.

“You want me to hold you?” he asks, because he still remembers her hesitation, on that street corner.

“Please,” and she leans her head briefly against his shoulder.

He pulls her in against him as tightly as he dares, as tightly as she’ll allow him. “I guess I need to ask if there’s anyone in your world who might want to kick my ass for doing this.”

“No one has the right to kick your ass,” she mutters. “Because you asked me and I said yes. And -- ” Gust of her sigh, almost soundless. “And because the person I want isn’t into me at all.”

“I am so sorry,” he mutters, and then he does dare to press a kiss into her hair. “I mean. I don’t know how anyone could not-want you.”

“Scared of me. We’re not equals. The usual.”

“What do you mean the usual? It’s happened to you -- more than once?”

Shrug, that he feels more than he sees, and the grimace pulling at her mouth.

He wants to erase that grimace. “Well I know how that works,” he says lightly. 

Then he transfers the kiss to Noctis’s cheek. “Ask this idiot.”

“You got over it,” he hears Celes say. “Took a long time?”

“Long time, yeah you could say that.” Noctis, chuckling warm and rich and amused. “Long time, like two years.”

“Then you’re both idiots.”

Prompto laughs, too. “We were. Still are.”

“Noctis says he doesn’t mind me being here, whenever I find myself here,” he hears Celes say. “What about you? Do you mind that I’m here?”

He lets himself think about it. 

Lets himself look at the profile of her. Her eyelashes, longer than Noctis’s, casting fan-shadows onto her cheeks. Hairline scars across her jaw, running down her neck, nicking her right ear. The tense way she stands and breathes. “I really don’t.”

Noctis laughs again. “That’s another ten. Told you he’d say that and you didn’t want to believe me. Don’t forget to pay up before you go.”

“Shut up,” he hears Celes say.

“Sorry. Let me make it up to you?”

“Noct,” she says, like she’s fond, like she’s sweet, like she’s quiet and far too small. 

Prompto steps away from the two of them. There’s a squashy beanbag chair within arm’s reach and he flops onto it, and something tightens in his gut when Noctis closes the distance to Celes. When he pulls her into his arms and holds her for a moment, and then leans in for a kiss.

It’s only weird because Prompto’s never seen anything like this before: the two of them, not quite mirror images of each other, sighing softly against each other as they kiss, slow and thorough and -- he can see where they’ve done this before. Celes’s hand closing on Noctis’s hip through his shirt and the waistband of his trousers, and Noctis’s hand bracing Celes at the neck, and the quiet sounds of kissing. The dart of tongues, the flashes of nipping teeth. 

They’re lovely together. They’re nothing short of beautiful. They’re leaving him breathless, too, here where he’s completely separate and watching and they’re not touching him, either.

And he clamps his own hand over his mouth, trying not to moan and break them up, because she’s swaying right into him and he’s gasping against her, and it’s the hottest thing Prompto’s ever seen in his life, when Celes catches Noctis’s head in her hands and presses closer, closer, the slick sounds, the little shocked breaths -- 

He actually sees the moment when Noctis’s eyes fly open -- and she’d never closed hers -- when they look deeply into each other’s eyes and the kiss eases away into something like shared smiles.

Again that tightening in his gut when she laughs and turns Noctis’s head.

Now they’re both looking at him, and he’s drowning in their blue eyes.

“Let me?” It’s Celes who asks. 

“Don’t ask me, ask him.” Noctis looks like a hot mess, collars pulled askew, hair completely shaken down.

And Prompto wants to kiss him, wants to ruffle him up some more -- 

He also wants to kiss her. Wants to know how she kisses, how she touches, how she feels.

He watches her open her mouth and he says, “Come here.”

“I was going to ask,” she laughs -- and in the next instant he’s shifting on the beanbag chair, trying to find the space for her, where she’s easily leaning over him with her knees to either side of his lap. Where she’s hunched almost as if to cover him in her presence, in the weight of the coat that she’s no longer wearing.

“Prompto.” Noctis’s voice, that’s Noctis’s voice, Noctis who is sitting down next to the beanbag chair and taking his hand. “Just -- go on.”

It’s not permission -- he hasn’t even been thinking of it -- but he feels a little lighter, a little bolder, and he touches Celes’s cheek with his thumb and leans up into her, wide-eyed as she seems to fall into him --

Her mouth is softer than Noctis’s. Plush give of her lips against his, quick dart of her tongue, because she’s licking into him without any hesitations and he groans and shivers all the way upright, holding on to her by shoulder and hip as he rides the give and the take of her, the way she scores his lips with her teeth, the way she catches a hurried breath and then dives back in like she’s actively trying to drown in him.

She wants someone, on her Eos, and that someone doesn’t want her -- and here, here she’s kissing him, and Prompto doesn’t even have to stop to think about it.

If she wants to use him as -- some kind of wish fulfillment, some kind of phantom lover, then that’s what he’ll be -- and he’ll be good at it, if he can, if she’ll let him. The thought doesn’t chill him at all. Doesn’t stop him at all. He wants to make that wish come true, even if it’s a ghost of a wish, even if it’s a secondhand truth.

So he pulls a little more roughly at the hair at the back of her head -- her strangled cry right against his cheek is his reward -- and he somehow doesn’t overbalance her when he maneuvers her legs to wrap around his waist. 

“That’s hot, keep going,” he thinks he hears Noctis say, whether to him or to her he can’t tell -- and he’s already trying everything he knows to keep going, trying to drink Celes in -- and then he has another idea, one that starts with pulling away from her mouth. With licking at her beauty mark and then he’s pulling her head back a little, making her bare her throat to him, and the fist that strikes his shoulder is accompanied by a rough groan, a barely articulated “Fuck” and the roll of her hips over his.

The lingering scent of mountain winds and sea-salt on her skin, like wildflowers, like the waves, and he tries to kiss the bits of her skin that are exposed by her necklace and she groans, and he feels her hand move to the choker and he pulls away from her long enough to say, low and quiet, “Don’t.”

“I want to feel you,” he hears her say, almost a whine in her words.

“You can.” And he kisses her full on the mouth once again before he’s nosing at her chains, at the slivers of her skin, and she shivers from shoulders to hips and he grins and runs his tongue in a circle over the point of one collar bone before he pulls away.

He doesn’t even have enough time to gasp in a breath before Noctis is kissing him, and he falls just as eagerly into that touch, into that talented mouth.

Before he knows it the two of them are passing him between each other and he’s leaning desperately into it, into the two of them sharing him -- the two of them who won’t let him catch a complete breath, who won’t him catch the splintered fractured whirl of his thoughts, and he loses track of where he ends and where they begin, kiss after kiss like sweet madness dripping honey-slow over him, drowning him in their soft burn, spinning him free from all his senses.

It only ends when Celes nearly tips him out of the beanbag chair and then she’s giggling, helpless and flushed, and he stares at the sweat that lingers in her hair. The streaks of her eyeliner, surrendering into smudges towards her ears. 

He stares when Noctis levers himself to his feet and helps Celes do the same, and then he says, “Wanna do this somewhere more comfortable?”

“I thought -- beanbag,” he begins, wincing because where are his words, what happened to his words?

“Not big enough, I don’t think. Don’t say it,” he hears Noctis add in Celes’s direction.

Prompto laughs, somehow, cheered by the sight of her raising a middle finger into something very much like her own face.

And that’s enough to make him flop upwards and out of the sucking grip of the beanbag chair, and stumble after Noctis to the bedroom.

He’s half-expecting everyone to get back to the kissing, immediately, but what he sees is this: Noctis and Celes sitting side by side on the foot of the bed, and his hands at her neck, unclasping the choker and all its chained dangling attachments, and -- 

The thin scars of Celes are all centered on the faded dark-brown line, nearly two fingers wide, that sits just above her collar bones.

“What,” he hears, and he doesn’t understand that he’s the one who’s spoken out loud, until he sees Celes turn away. Until he sees the muscles twitching in her jaw. 

Next to her, Noctis is shedding his jacket and his tie and his shirts. Ropy scar tissue curving around his left flank, where Prompto knows it’s the arm of the huge raised knots chained along Noctis’s back. “This one’s mine,” he hears Noctis say, pointing to just above his waist.

“This one’s mine,” he hears Celes say, pointing to her throat. 

Prompto stares, and stares, and he grabs Noctis in a hug, first, and whispers, “Noct. Love you. You know that.”

“Yeah I do. Love you Prom,” he says, and the words don’t shake, don’t retain the ragged haunted edge that’s still in his eyes. The words are steadfast, coming from him. Full of conviction.

And that conviction gives Prompto the strength to open his arms to Celes. “Wanna?”

“Yeah I do,” he hears her say, and she falls against him, into his arms, and he wraps himself around her and he pretends to ignore the one single quiet sob she lets out against him. 

“Yeah,” she says again, and clutches at him more tightly.

He kisses the shell of her ear and says, “I don’t know anything except that in another world you’re Noctis. And that you love someone who doesn’t want you. That part can’t make sense to me, I’m sorry, you maybe don’t want to talk about it but I had to get that out there. I had to say it out loud, so you’d hear it.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re Noctis. And that’s enough for me. For me of this world. Love you. Do whatever you want with that.”

It’s true, it’s nothing more or less than the truth, and the more he thinks about it the more he means it.

“You’re so nice,” he hears Celes say.

“Noctis deserves nice things. You do,” he whispers.

“And you do.” Noctis, holding him now from behind. Those sword-scarred hands moving on him.

He actually blinks when he sees the two of them -- their faces so close together over his shoulder that he thinks they’re going to start kissing again, and he’ll be glad to watch because they’re nothing but gorgeous, together, twinned and twined -- but he only sees Noctis’s blink, and the flash of Celes’s eyebrows pulling together into a straight line, and then he’s being pushed to lie down flat on his back and there are four hands moving on him, pulling his clothes away. 

It’s Noctis who asks, “This okay?”

It’s Celes who asks, “Can we?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” and Prompto can’t say the words quickly enough, and he tries to help, too, with the tricky bits of all three of them trying to strip down to their bare skins. The buttons on the side seams of Celes’s shorts. The ragged belt loops on Noctis’s trousers. Silky-thin dress socks for both of them.

And they pull away his socks and his boxer-briefs first, and he’s the one who’s there in his own bare skin and freckles and stretch marks.

He feels Celes’s eyes on him and he still feels like he needs to suck in his stomach, like he needs to hide the wrinkled skin at his hips, and he doesn’t. He clenches his hands into fists on the sheets and lets her look, and doesn’t say a word. 

He does try to smile when she looks back at his face.

“Don’t you dare think I was going to judge you,” he hears her hiss.

“I didn’t, either,” he hears Noctis add. “I stared, I did, but I was just trying to understand what was going on with him.”

“Shut up, Noct.”

He doesn’t say it; she does.

And then she’s pulling off her bra and her panties -- they don’t match, as one item is a pale gray and the other is black decorated with blue stitching -- and she’s swinging her knee back over him, same as when they were in the beanbag, only now there’s nothing between them. 

Her mouth, forming words: “Look all you want. Have you ever seen a girl naked before?”

He swallows, and nods a little. “Not because I wanted to. She was kind of just there. I guess I didn’t count as an audience to her. Not the important thing, though.”

“What’s the important thing?”

“You’re Noctis, and you’re a girl. Two important things. So, so I want to look.”

She pulls his hand up from the bed and kisses his knuckles. “Sweet of you to say.”

Permission: he’s got it. 

So he looks.

He’s used to Noctis’s chest so there’s not much of a difference here. The ruts that the bra straps have worn into Celes’s shoulders seem to emphasize the modest swell of her breasts. Deep pink flush staining her skin, darkening her nipples, the area around her navel. He can’t help but reach out to the inward curve from her chest down to her waist, the gentle shape of her that flares out to legs whip-corded with muscle. 

His fingers stray almost to the crease of her thigh, and she nods and bites her lip, and he runs his thumb in slow circles -- her stretch marks are as pronounced as his, just lighter, so they actually sort of blend into the tones of her skin.

Bounce and give of the bed as Noctis moves from his side.

“What are you doing?” he hears Celes ask.

“Move,” Noctis says, with a push on his knee: so Prompto sits up, and spreads his legs wide so Noctis can push Celes into the vee of that opened space -- push her closer to Prompto -- and Noctis plasters himself up against her back and now they’re all sharing each other’s space again, sharing each other’s breaths.

He watches Noctis catch her attention, licking carefully up her neck and then -- whisper, whisper, low enough that he can’t make out the words that the two of them are exchanging, only the last one. Only Celes’s last response, which comes out as a sweetly hoarse _Okay_.

“Noctis,” he says.

“It’s gonna be good,” he hears Noctis say. “We’ll talk you through it.”

“Through what?”

“Through this.” But it’s Celes who answers, who pulls Noctis’s hand up to her mouth: three fingers all at once, and Prompto feels his eyes widen at the sounds she makes, the flash of her tongue as she leaves Noctis’s hand thoroughly wet -- 

That hand that Noctis trails down her torso -- Celes rises onto her knees, gasps softly as he pushes his fingers into her, slowly.

It’s a show, Prompto thinks, far too late as his pulse thumps maddeningly between his own legs. They’re putting on a show for him: Noctis and Noctis. 

“Please?” he hears Celes whine. “Prompto?”

“Where do you want me,” he asks.

But he doesn’t wait for them to answer -- he clocks the avid look in Noctis’s eyes, and tries to make the connection -- maybe they might not share all their body parts but maybe they might share some of the things they like in bed -- so he leans forward, and kisses down the slope of Celes’s breast, before licking her nipple into his mouth. 

Cry that breaks from her, sweet and sharp and loud.

Like Noctis, and Prompto once made him come with nothing but a very teasing hand-job and his mouth on his chest.

Tongue and teeth and lips and fingers -- he works Celes mercilessly, as Noctis does, and their combined reward is Celes going completely silent and completely tense between them, tight like she’s about to snap in half, before she lets out a strangled cry and all but falls over -- Prompto catches her in his arms -- 

She shakes violently for a long moment.

When she looks up she’s grinning. “Damn, you two.”

“I can do this all day,” he hears Noctis laugh, low and dark and knowing. “And I don’t know if we mentioned it to you, but Prom and I have like three days off. If you’re staying that long we might just learn how to wreck you.”

“I would like you to do that,” is Celes’s reply, quiet demand. “But before we do that, I want something else first.”

“Go for it.”

Prompto leans into her kiss, and into her words: “Want me?”

“You gotta ask?” he says, matching her wide hungry grin. 

“Of course I gotta ask, but thanks for the enthusiasm, now make yourself useful Noctis, you got any more condoms left?”

“Yup.”

The regret spears through him, only a brief flash, because he knows why they need to use protection -- he understands -- so he’s careful, or he tries to be, when Noctis hands him the little packet of silver foil and he fits the rubber on over his cock, and summons up a smile. “Be nice to me,” he says, only half-joking, as he lets Celes push him back down to the bed. “I know how to fuck Noctis, I don’t know how to fuck you.”

Choking laughter from very close by: Noctis, who is also putting on a condom. “Language.”

“The hell,” Celes laughs. “He wasn’t swearing. He was using verbs.”

“Quit giving me a hard time,” and he pokes Noctis with his elbow.

“Give me one instead.”

Nothing joking in Celes’s tone, not in those words.

He grins fearlessly up into the naked want of her.

Watches as she spits into her hand and reaches for his cock -- one stroke, a handful of strokes, and he’s hissing and grabbing her by the wrist. “Not that I have a hair-trigger, but we’re not doing this for me, we’re doing this with you. Yeah?”

“You’re a real sweetheart,” Celes laughs, and changes her grip. Steadies him, holds him in place, and he’s open-mouthed, like she’s slowly but surely stripping all the air from his lungs, as she takes him, as she eases down onto him.

She’s tight and hot and he can almost actually feel how wet she is, despite the condom, and he grabs her by the hips and asks, “You want this fast or slow?”

“Go hard,” she says.

“You won’t break me,” she says.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and -- does just that. Her hands digging into his, spurring him on as he fucks up into her, as hard and as fast as he can go.

“Damn, you look good,” he thinks he hears Noctis say.

It’s all he can do to go at the pace she sets and it feels like no time at all before he has to try and hold himself back, hold it all back, because this is about him but this is also about her, and he wants her to, to get what she wants out of the whole thing and -- he grits his teeth and groans, cries out her name in encouragement -- hand wrapping around his wrist and squeezing almost painfully -- he skids towards the edge of his own climax and then, blessedly, she screams -- 

The instant he hears her gasp for breath is the instant in which he falls.

Maybe he blacks out, maybe not -- but when he does open his eyes he feels all his nerves shudder, needy and torn to wanting once again, seeing Celes bounce on Noctis’s lap and their arms wound tight around each other. Their heads bent together.

He catches her hand and then his, and they’re both looking at him when they come.

////

He wakes up to a night full of roaring rain.

Wakes up to Celes in his arms, to Noctis spooning him, and he’s surrounded by them, the reality of the two of them -- and whether this happens again or not, he doesn’t want to forget the weight and the warmth of them against him.

The gift they’ve given him of themselves, both of them, all at once.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr at my FFXV sideblog [@ninemoons42-lestallumhaven](http://ninemoons42-lestallumhaven.tumblr.com/) or at my main [@ninemoons42](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/)!


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